


that I were a glove upon that hand

by redbrunja



Series: that I were a glove upon that hand [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-05-16 08:49:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14808141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbrunja/pseuds/redbrunja
Summary: The sounds of Solo ...entertaining Victoria drive Illya and Gaby from their hotel room.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Turningleaf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turningleaf/gifts).



Illya scrubbed the stink of the harbor off his body as quickly as he could. He stepped out of the shower before the water finished adjusting to the temperature he'd set.

He toweled himself dry, dressed, and stepped back into the hotel room less than five minutes after he'd left it.

When he looked in on the bedroom, the chandelier was still shaking, the unmistakable rhythm of copulation drifting down from above. Illya felt his cheeks heat.

He cleared his throat and looked for Gaby.

She had obviously fled the bedroom, but she wasn't in the sitting room, either.

Illya felt a spike of concern. Victoria's thugs could have decided to descend a floor, interrogate the _other_ suspicious characters who had also been at the racetrack today.

He stepped across the room and her slight figure caught his gaze.

She was on the balcony, breeze toying with the end of her ponytail, still in her sleep-rumpled pajamas.

Illya crossed to her. Feeling enormously suave, he picked up two glasses from the sideboard, and the fresh bottle of vodka housekeeping had left, as he went.

Gaby glanced away from the city lights as he set the glasses, opened the bottle, and poured each of them a drink.

She picked up her glass, tapped it against his with a clear ring. The lights of the Eternal City kissed her face with gold.

Gaby turned back to the view, sipped her drink. She didn't appear to be in the hurry to down the vodka, the way she'd been yesterday.

The breeze was warm and the hum of traffic rose up from the streets below. It was a pleasant way to end an eventful day; a beautiful woman, expensive liquor. Vodka wasn't Illya's preferred drink but it was of good quality; a clean burn across his tongue. He hoped it would provide inspiration for something to say. He wanted Gaby to turn and look at him.

"'Will you stay here, after we find you father?"

Gaby shot him a sharp look, suspicious. He realized a moment too late what a bad conversation sally that was. He was a KGB officer - of course she would not wish to talk about her plans for a life in the West with her formerly Nazi, currently American father with him.

"Maybe," she said, turning back to the view. "I don't speak Italian. I guess I could learn. But maybe - New York City."

"New York would suit you," Illya told her.

"You've been there?" Gaby whipped her head around. Then she raised a suspicious eyebrow. " _Really?_ "

Illya nodded. He shouldn't talk about previous missions but Gaby was, for the moment, an ally. A comrade. He wouldn't tell anything that she couldn't read in a tourist's guide. And he couldn't resist the opportunity to have all of Gaby's focus on him.

Gaby did not flatter him or ease the conversation, that way other agents had mastered and his instructors had tried to teach Illya, but there was an... alluring gracelessness to the way Gaby poked and questioned his stories. She was unafraid, just like she'd been last night when she'd thrown herself at him, when they'd wrecked the hotel room.

He looked down at the glass he hadn't realized was empty. He wondered if there was a way to get her to manhandle him around the room again...?

"Do you think Solo has worn her out?" Gaby wondered, and then padded back into the hotel room.

For a moment it seemed like he had.

The room was silent.

Then there was a rush of shouted Italian, cresting into a high shriek of pleasure, and the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh resumed.

"Another drink?" Gaby asked.

* * *

When they stepped into the hotel bar, the place was empty, half the table with chairs set on top.

Still, the bartender, a grizzled Italian man, saw Gaby and smiled.

" _Ciao bella_ ," he said. "Come in, come in."

Gaby walked over to the bar and hopped on a stool. She was barefoot, still in her pajamas. When they'd left the room, she had grabbed his suit jacket from the closet and now it hung past her fingertips, almost to her knees. Illya had spent the entire trip from their room to the lobby wondering if she had picked his coat deliberately or had simply picked the nearest one. Either way, the effect was enchanting.

"Trouble sleeping?" the bartender asked, leaning towards Gaby.

Illya pointedly took a seat next to her.

"Too excited to sleep," Gaby confessed, and even Illya almost believed it.

"Ah! Young love," the bartender said.

Gaby smiled, angling her knees toward Illya, and laid her left hand across his, the engagement ring catching the light.

"Affianced?" the bartender asked.

Gaby nodded, looking up at Illya from under her lashes. It was only a cover, but he still glowed under her attention, turning his hand so he could run his thumb along her the side of her hand.

She shivered but didn't pull her hand from his.

"I remember when I asked my wife to marry me," the bartender reminisced, and began mixing a drink. "I was as besotted as your gentleman here, so afraid she would turn me away...."

 

* * *

 

He woke early. Shadows still clung to the edges of the room, thin morning light touching the edges of the curtains and bed across from him. Gaby had wrapped herself entirely up in the bedspread, only her tangled, dark hair visible.

Illya’s blood moved slow and hot in his veins, and his cock lay half-hard against his thigh.

He breathed slowly, waiting to see if the urges of his body would subside.

They didn’t. His disobedient mind recalled Gaby straddling him, her eyes soft and focused as she lowered herself down. Or last night, Gaby touching his wrist and laughing at a story the old bartender told.

Illya slunk out of bed, towards the bathroom. He moved carefully, silently. He watched the lumps under the covers that was Gaby, but she didn’t stir as he left the room.

He started the shower, let the water warm this time.

He stepped under the spray, took himself in hand. It was ….tawdry, to do this only a room away from Gaby. She would be disgusted if she knew he was pleasuring himself to thoughts of her.

Illya tried to think of something else, someONE else, but his recalcitrant mind turned every generic woman he tried to conjure into Gaby, her slight yet strong frame, her sharp, dark eyes.

With a grunt of frustration, Illya changed tack. He ran the pad of his thumb across the head of his cock and jacked himself roughly. If he could not keep his mind from thinking of Gaby as he pleasured himself, he could at least be quick about it.  
He let his mind have free rein. Behind his eyelids, he imagined Gaby lowering herself onto him. What sounds would she make as she took his cock? Nothing like the overwrought theatrics Victoria had inflicted on them last night, he was sure. Small sounds of effort and pleasure, maybe- maybe he would buck up into her, into the heat and clutch of her cunt, and she would gasp as she braced her small, calloused hands on his chest. He imagined her throwing her head back as she rode him. Or - maybe Illya had pleased her so thoroughly that she thought he deserved a reward.

Illya unconsciously slowed the motions of his hand, savoring the idea. She would step into the shower with him. She pulled his head down, demanded a kiss. She whispered words of praise - he was so good -he did so well - and then nipped his bottom lip playfully.

She knelt down, water wetting her hair, slicking it across her head, across her shoulders. She leaned forward, licked up the underside. She wrapped her hand around him, gave his cock a few lazy strokes, the head brushing against her lips. She kissed the head of his cock, tongue flicking out the tease at the slit, and then swallowed him, took him into the wet heat of her mouth.

It only took moments of that, of imagining Gaby on her knees for him, dark eyes teasing as she took him apart with her mouth, to have Illya spilling.

He bit his lip, swallowed any sounds of pleasure.

In the aftermath, he braced his arm against the tiles, breathed heavily.

He was flushed with heat and shame and arousal. He picked up a washcloth, lathered it, and began to give himself a thorough scrubbing.


	2. Chapter 2

Illya had always fallen into sleep like a rock into deep water.

Military school and then KGB training taught him to sleep lightly and to wake quickly but he always found it easy to shut his eyes and slide into unconsciousness.

Not so, with Gaby.

She tugged her pillow this way and that, sometimes fluffing it up and sometimes smacking it down. She tossed and turned, winding herself tight in the covers or kicking one leg out to rest, bare, on the mattress with just the sheet pulled to her chin.

Even when she finally found rest, she would shift and mumble in her sleep, sometimes waking Illya. He fantasized about slipping in next to her, throwing an arm around her to soothe. Would she settle if he tucked her against his chest? Would she know even asleep that he would protect her?

When they shared a room, it wasn't unusual for Illya to wake in the middle of the night to Gaby slipping out of the bed next to his, or realize that she was in another part of the suite, listening to music turned down low.

Illya woke in the middle of the night in Rabat and turned his head to see that the bed next to his was empty.

He rose to his feet.

Gaby had told him numerous times that she didn't need him checking on her, but she was his teammate. But how could he know that she was simply having a nightcap and listening to the radio and not kidnapped if he didn't check? (When they had this argument in front of Solo, Solo commented that Illya had never checked on _him._ Illya's answer: "Gaby is more valuable to the mission.")

He padded silently through the suite, not bothering to turn on any lights.

The suite was dark and quiet, and Illya spotted the top of Gaby's head resting on one of the couches. She must have come out here and then fallen asleep.

Illya circled around the couch, intending to pick Gaby up and tuck her back into bed-

And then he realized that she was _not_ asleep.

Gaby lay on the couch, head resting on the arm rest, one hand pulling her panties aside, one stroking the plump, glistening lips of her cunt. She was wearing her pajama top, half the buttons undone, but her pajama bottoms were pushed down to her ankles.

He recognized the lacy panties she'd pulled to one side - when purchasing Gaby's new wardrobe, he'd instructed the shop girl to add a week's worth of appropriate underthings to his purchase, and he'd seen her pick up the scraps of silky fabric and quickly looked away.

Gaby huffed out a frustrated breath, opened her knees a little wider. She slowed the circling of her fingers, pressed harder, hips lifting, clearing seeking release.

Illya was dizzy, lost in the details - Gaby's furrowed brow, her sinuous motions. He desperately wanted to see her crest, find release.

Her eyes opened.

She made a strangled sound and jerked upright, her knees snapping closed so fast he heard her kneecaps bang together.

She stared at him, her eyes so wide he could see the sclera all the way around her brown irises.

Instantly, realization of what he'd done washed over Illya. He'd snuck upon her, realized she was in the middle of something intimate, and he'd _watched_ , instead of leaving her.

Illya choked out an apology and turned away, awash in shame.

He stumbled back to the bed and lay down. He told himself not the think of what he'd just seen, but he couldn't manage to think of anything else, his cock hard and aching. He forced his hands by his sides, refused to touch himself.

Eight minutes later Gaby returned to the room, lay down on her bed.

After long moments turned his head a fraction on his pillow, just enough to see her out of the corner of his eyes.

She was lying stiff under the covers, arms crossed. Illya knew that she had not found release, and doubted she would find any sleep tonight.

Illya also didn't manage to fall asleep.

He was wide awake when the alarm started to ring, and Gaby threw back the covers and headed to the washroom before his hand touched the alarm clock to turn it off, which meant that she hadn't slept last night either.

Hopefully, today's mission would go smoothly.

(It didn't.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given recent fannish events, I dusted off my [twitter](https://twitter.com/redbrunja) and my [dreamwidth](https://redbrunja.dreamwidth.org/) account.


	3. Chapter 3

CODE NAME: U.N.C.L.E. flew first class into Rabat and left it by way of a decommissioned army truck with an engine that sounded like a dying cat.

Solo sat up in front, next to the driver, a lovely woman with deep brown skin, a red headscarf, and practical boots. He’d been flirting wildly as Illya and Gaby scrambled into the back. The driver had sent the truck lurching forward before Illya had gotten aboard, and he’d been forced to run a few steps and jump in.

The truck bed was enclosed with olive-drab tarplin. One hand holding a metal strut so she wouldn’t be tossed out onto the street, Gaby unfastened the flap at the back, sending fabric plunging down, hiding them from any prying eyes.

Gaby and Illya worked together to lash the flap closed, and then they were alone, in the hot, dim truck bed. There was nowhere to sit - no seats, and while there were crates towards the front of the truck, they were stacked high enough and roped down in a way that made them unusable as seating.

They crouched down at the end of the truck. Illya turned his head to Gaby, to see her already staring at him, her dark eyes unreadable.

He is suddenly aware that he has blood and dirt on his face, from the fight in the bazaar. He’d been handling two enemy agents and Gaby had shot the third that had been about to sink a knife into his back.

It was hard to tell with the vibration of the truck, but he thought Gaby might be trembling. Was it left over adrenaline from the fight?

“You’re safe,” he promised her, voice low.

“I know,” Gaby said, touching his cheek, tilting his head up, and then her mouth was on his.

Gaby’s kisses were _incendiary._

Illya forgot about everything but Gaby, her sweet taste, her hands on him.

The truck suddenly accelerated and Illya would have tumbled out the back flap if Gaby hadn’t yanked at his collar.

He fell back, half on top of her, on the hard metal truck bed. That wouldn’t do at all.

He stood, helped Gaby up as well, and then planted his feet, reaching up with one hand to grip the metal struts that upheld the flapping canvas canopy.

“Hold on to me,” Illya instructed, voice soft. He placed his hand over where hers rested on his shoulder, and slid it down, guiding her to grip the lapel of his tac jacket. SHe did the same with her other hand and then nodded seriously at him. Her lips were puffy, pink and he couldn’t resist kissing her, now that he had permission to.

When they broke apart, gasping for air, Illya could barely manage to stop kissing her. He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, her cheekbones, her temple. When he lifted his head, Gaby made an grumpy sound and yanked on his jacket, pulling him back to her.

Obediently, he kissed her again.

Then he reached for her belt.

He watched her face as his free hand worked - opening up her belt, unbuttoning her pants and then sliding her zipper down. He couldn’t hear anything over the cacophony of the engine. He watched for any trace of hesitation or discomfort but Gaby only pressed her hips forward, widened her stance.

Under her fatigues, she was wearing silky, pink underthings, more suited to her couture dresses than the tac gear she wore.

He traced his fingers along her, the silk already damp. Illya slipped his fingers inside her panties. He slid his fingers along the seam of her pussy, and then dipped the tips of his fingers inside her folds, teasing, preparing. The first time he touched her clit, she made a sound and her hips jerked against his.

Illya had to pause, desperately marshaling his self control. If he let himself, he could grind against her and come in seconds, but that wouldn’t do. He needed to be good for Gaby, to make her feel good.

He caressed her cunt until she was slick and plump, hips hitching, and then he tried to touch her like she touched herself. The way he'd tried to forget but would remember forever. He circled her clit with his fingers, stroked the length of her, and then back to her clit, circling, harder this time, circling and circling and then she was crying out, hips jerking.

Illya moved his hand to her waist, holding her steady, his other hand white-knuckled on the support strut, his cock aching.

Gaby leaned against him for a moment.

Then she reached for his belt. His knees almost buckled. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, focused on making sure Gaby didn’t fall, that he didn’t come.

He shuddered at her first touch, her small fingers wrapping around him. She stroked him, slow. Her hand was soft and callused both, her clever fingers tracing him. It was easy to forget how much smaller Gaby was than him but he'd never been more aware of it than now, feeling her slim fingers encircle him. He throbbed at her touch, felt huge and heavy under Gaby’s carefully exploration.

She took her hand away and Illya whimpered, low, back in his throat.

Gaby cupped herself, casually filthy, running her fingers along her cunt.

He was confused for a moment, worried that he had dissatisfied her, and then he realized why she was touching herself.

Her fingers were shiny when she reached for Illya again.

She gripped him firmly, with _intent,_ her hand working him, slick with her own arousal and her grip deliciously firm. Too soon Illya was groaning her name, spurting into her hand.

And then the truck slammed on its brakes.

Illya lost his hold on the strut and they both tumbled down, hitting the metal truck bed again with a loud bang.

They heard the truck door opening, then Solo’s jaunty strut. Both Gaby and Illya scrambled to get their trousers fastened before Solo poked his inquisitive face into the back of the truck and caught them.


End file.
